Today it came to me, in a blazing revelation, that I have no self-discipline whatsoever and that I don’t want any. Somehow I seem to have gained back every ounce of the 15 pounds I lost a couple of years ago, although I suspect that about five pounds of that comes from various secrections that are bloating up my allergy-ridden body–wait, I mean, the body bloated up from the cold that FRED GAVE ME.
Fat people, take heart: I now realize that thin people are like recovering alcoholics, struggling one day at a time not to wolf down an entire package of Girl Scout Tagalongs along with a quart of milk–or my personal favorite, a giant bag of barbecue potato chips with a pint of French onion dip.
Life is starting to look like a perpetual Weight Watchers pep session, complete with smiling women in jogging suits laughing at some insipid witticism and biting into waxed apples.
I’m going to go eat some lard.
I loved this post, Jami.
Thanks, Paul! I guess I should write when I’m in a bad mood more often.